Son of Stone (Stone Barrington 21)

“All right.”

“Will you help me, David? You’re all I’ve got.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Can you put me up for a few days, until things cool down and I can move around more freely?”

“I can’t, Tim; my girlfriend has moved in with me, and she works for the New York Post.”

“Oh, Jesus, don’t tell her anything, then.”

“I don’t know anything,” David said. “Do you need money?”

“No, I’m okay there.”

“Then I suggest you move into a hotel. Not near here, please; uptown somewhere.”

“Can you suggest a place?”

“No, I’m not going to suggest anything, Tim. I won’t go to jail for you.”

“I just got into town; I haven’t found a place yet. Do you know a hotel called-”

David stopped him with an upraised hand. “I don’t want to know the name,” he said.

Tim took a cell phone from his pocket and pushed it across the table. “I bought two of these,” he said. “They’re untraceable.” He handed David a card. “Here’s my number.”

David looked at the phone for a long moment, then he put it and the card into a pocket.

“It’s set on vibrate, and the voice mail is already set up, so we can leave messages.”

“Do you know a lawyer in Virginia, Tim? A criminal lawyer?”

“No. I mean, I have an attorney, but he doesn’t have a criminal practice.”

“Call him on your new cell phone and ask him to recommend one, then go back to Virginia and let him turn you in to the sheriff. That’s your best move, Tim, believe me.”

Tim nodded. “I’ll do that in a few days,” he said. “There’s something else I have to do first, then I’ll go back to Charlottesville.”

“What do you have to do here?” David asked, curious in spite of himself.

“It’s better you don’t know,” Tim said, setting down his glass. “I’ll leave first; finish your drink before you go home.” He put a twenty on the table, got up, got into his coat, and left.

David took ten minutes to finish his scotch, then got into his coat and went to the neighborhood deli for the lettuce and bread.

God, David thought as he walked home, I wish he hadn’t called.

57

K elli Keane arrived at work and immediately went to see Prunella Wheaton. She placed her manuscript and copies of the photos she wanted to use on her desk, then plopped herself down.

Prunie handed her a cup of coffee. “First draft?” she asked.

“Final draft, before I send it,” Kelli replied.

Prunie picked up the piece and began to read. Kelli finished her coffee and tiptoed around the desk for another cup, not wishing to disturb her mentor. She hadn’t expected Prunie to read the whole thing at once.

Prunie finished, and restacked the sheets on her desk.